


flowing fast

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [9]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abandonment Issues, Gen, Hugs, Insecurity, Platonic Jealousy, feat. the wol being a weenie, felt like that should be specified, no one did anything wrong, no the woman mentioned by ikael is not dead, thancred is just trying to deal with things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:36:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: And then one day, they will leave you behind. And no one will search, because to them you were already gone.The Warrior of Light doesn't quite have a secure hold on his fears. It's... unfortunate.





	flowing fast

“Lay her down, quick!”

Ikael obeys, laying the girl on the ground, heart caught in his throat, and Thancred anxiously kneels next to her. She can’t be more than twelve or thirteen, a small hyuran girl wearing singed clothing with dirtied cheeks and fingertips. She is unmoving.

“Come on, come on, open your eyes,” Thancred mutters, pressing against her wrist for a pulse. Ikael looks up anxiously, and Thancred breathes out a nod. She lives.

Behind them, the small wooden shack groans and collapses, the last of the smoke gasping out into the clouds.

“I can’t—Ikael,” Thancred implores, and Ikael is already putting his fingertips to her chest, closing his eyes and focusing on channeling his aether into her. He is far from a healer, but he can do more than Thancred right now, and they need _something_.

Ikael closes his eyes, concentrates—and his vision goes murky and pulsing with unawareness. He pushes forward, seeking the girl’s presence—there! An echo of a person.

He sees a woman, and for a moment his mind takes her and superimposes his own memory, of soft brown skin and orchid black hair, and Ikael pulls away from it with a jerk. Whoever the original woman is, she must have a strong connection to the girl—her sister, perhaps? No—her… her mother—Ikael frowns; he has to _focus_ —

The girl’s eyes flutter open, and Ikael breaks contact with a gasp as he feels her aether clutch at his, tearing from him. She is awake. She is awake…

“Shh, sh! Be calm,” Thancred says, as she keens and reaches out with her hand. He catches it in his, and molten brown eyes lock onto him. The girl freezes, stares… and gradually calms.

“We are not here to hurt you,” Thancred says, ducking his head to meet her gaze, and her eyes flit to Ikael almost in surprise before looking back at Thancred. “I am Thancred,” he continues, “And this is Ikael. We found you in that house over there… I am sorry, but you were the only one in it.”

Ikael sighs softly. It is hard, but they have to tell her—if she starts asking about her family members—

But she frowns. “I know,” she says. “I was living alone there.”

Ikael looks at her in surprise. Thancred, too, tilts his head.

“My name is Aviesha,” says the girl. “Thank you for saving me—I do not know how long I must have been in there.”

Ikael and Thancred exchange glances. “Are you… alright?” Ikael ventures hesitantly. She does not seem… very shaken. He tries, “I saw a woman in your mind. She looked like you, but a good deal older—wearing a sack dress and—”

“That is _none of your business_ , miqo’te!” Aviesha hisses, and Ikael withdraws, startled.

“I-I am sorry,” he says, holding up his hands, “I did not mean to pry. I was… do you have any family to go to? Anywhere we can take you?”

Aviesha glares at him, then looks at Thancred, who is still holding her hand loosely. She says, “I have family. Up north.”

“Are you comfortable going to them?” Thancred asks quietly, and Ikael glances at him in surprise.

Aviesha nods. She tries to get up, and Thancred stands and helps her, supporting her by the elbow as she takes a few shaky steps. Ikael hovers a few fulms away, not wanting to put her ill at ease.

“How far is it from here?” Thancred asks, and she squints.

“A few days,” she says, “If I do not run into anything. When I usually make the trek I can steer clear of the wolves, so if you two can keep up, you may accompany me.”

Thancred laughs a little. “We shall endeavour to,” he says, “If only because you do not have anything with you with which to travel. Not even food! Ikael here is quite a good culinarian—you are in for a treat.”

Aviesha glances at Ikael with prickly mistrust. He smiles disarmingly, and her jaw clenches. “I shall take your word for it,” she says stiffly, facing away with her chin held high.

Thancred raises an eyebrow at Ikael, who shrugs. He does not know why she seems so bothered by him either, but it matters little. As long as she is safe.

~*~

Ikael is following Aviesha and Thancred, keeping a good distance away. They have been talking; Ikael has barely gotten close enough to hear, because whenever he starts to make out their voices, Aviesha sends him a glare and he retreats.

Whatever it is she doesn’t want him to hear, he is fine with—it is none of his business. But he… wishes to talk to Thancred. Or at least get a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He has been feeling uneasy ever since the vision of the woman; she… had more than a little resembled his own mother, and…

Aviesha scowls at him and tugs Thancred closer to herself. Ikael feels his eyebrows raise. Huh. He will not get into an argument with a child over possession of his friend; she can have him. The thought is almost amusing, but… well. He is going to have to at least communicate with Thancred at _some_ point.

Thancred himself seems oddly cheerful, laughing a little when Aviesha pulls at his hand, and keeping up conversation with a small grin and grand gestures. He seems at ease with a child around; Ikael wonders for a second if he is thinking of… ah. Someone else, when he sees Aviesha.

A cool wind blows around them. Ikael shivers, wishing he had chosen something to wear that covers more skin. Aviesha, too, shivers, and Thancred immediately removes his coat and hands it to her.

Ikael squints at them, somewhat petulantly. Then he snorts. It will not do to be jealous of a _child_.

The thought is ridiculous.

~*~

Jealousy is an ugly thing.

It sneaks up on Ikael throughout the day, snaking its way into his chest. Thancred grins, bends down, Aviesha laughs, Ikael cannot take his mind off of the woman he had seen. He thinks of his mother. Aviesha’s hair is long, and black as ink. Ikael wishes he can stop thinking of his mother. His fingers spasm.

The wind blows. Thancred is yalms away, ahead of him. Aviesha has moved closer, and Thancred is trying his best to stick to her side. To make her feel safe, Ikael knows. To shield her from the breeze, perhaps. Ikael feels more than a bit left out.

Thancred looks happier than he has in weeks. Ikael ducks his head. He is being ridiculous.

Ahead of him, they stop, and Ikael halts as well, uncertain of how close Aviesha will allow him to get. He does not want to put her ill at ease. Thancred says something to her, and she nods, glancing around.

Thancred makes his way to Ikael, then, and Aviesha shadows his footsteps. Ikael shoots her a tentative smile. He gets a glare.

“We will make camp for the evening,” Thancred says, talking to him, and Ikael nods.

“I have food packed,” he replies, even as he glances as Aviesha. He has packed for two, not three, but it is no matter. He can split their portions.

“What kind of food?” Aviesha demands, and Ikael takes a half step back. Her tone is almost confrontational; he wonders who is it that she sees when she looks at him.

“Ah, mostly dried meat and rice,” he says. It is not the feast of kings, but he has flavoured it, and it lasts long for travel. Aviesha squints at him suspiciously, and he tries to appear friendly. He thinks he just manages to look strange and a bit cold.

“It is good, probably,” Thancred assures her. “Trust me; Ikael can cook.”

Ikael smiles a little at the compliment, feeling warmth for the first time in hours, but Aviesha curls her lip, and the feeling mists.

“Why don’t you two get a nice warm fire ready?” Ikael suggests. “I can portion the food.”

Aviesha frowns. “I am a growing girl,” she says almost defensively, as if she expects him to starve her.

Thancred chuckles; he seems to find the comment endearing. “Of course,” he says. “Ikael will give you the biggest portion, will you not?”

Ikael mentally recalculates how much food he will have left to eat. He will have to… “Definitely,” he says with a bright smile. He… is hungry, but he is not the important one here.

Aviesha seems to accept getting most of the food, at least, because she nods after squinting at him, and then tugs Thancred away to gather dry branches. Ikael watches them go, and sets to work unpacking. He starts to set up the sleeping rolls, as well. Again, he only has two, but…

By the time Thancred and Aviesha get back, the sun is setting, stealing the last of its leaked heat away with it. Ikael has set out two decent-sized meals and is clutching at a smaller one. He has taken a little from Thancred; he feels bad, but he needs to eat _something_.

“Already started without us?” Thancred raises an eyebrow, grinning. Ikael blinks up at him. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are smiling—he must have had fun playing whatever game he had with Aviesha. The girl herself is giggling, standing a little ways back. Ikael feels the corner of his mouth lift at the sound. She is cute.

She catches him looking, and immediately stops laughing, moving behind Thancred to block herself from Ikael’s view. His smile fades. The next gust of wind seeps into his chest.

Right; Thancred has asked him a question. Ikael’s lips part as he thinks of a quick reply, and then Thancred is turning around and laughing at Aviesha as she does something or other to his back. Ikael’s mouth closes with a green snap.

He looks down at his food. The rice is cooked past dryness again—damn it. He can never quite get it right.

Thancred and Aviesha sit down, cheerfully chatting at each other. Ikael looks at them and chews on rice that’s stuck together in clumps.

Aviesha waits for Thancred to take a bite before she hesitantly reaches for the food Ikael has laid out for her. She does not take the cutlery (even if he always makes sure to carry extra). He watches her anxiously out of the corner of her eye, waiting for her appraisal. It’s unfortunate that it’s not his best work, but… Thancred doesn’t seem to mind, does he?

Thancred does not say anything, merely stabs into the dried meat with his fork. Aviesha looks at him, then copies, reaching for her own fork and scooping up some rice.

She makes a face. “It’s dry,” she says.

Ah… “Uh, it’s not really my best dish,” Ikael says with a tentative smile. She glances at him, rolls her eyes a little, and quickly goes back to her food.

Ikael feels a bit bullied, despite himself. What has he done to this child? He looks to Thancred, maybe searching for a little sympathy. He is… not above self-pity.

Thancred catches his gaze, and pauses, fork raised halfway to his mouth. “Ah…” he says.

Ikael waits.

Thancred seems to be thinking. Ikael does not like that. Thancred tries, “… It is not burnt, at least?”

Aviesha snorts. Thancred shoots her an amused glance. When he looks back, Ikael is stretching a smile across his face.

“Ha,” he forces out. The word feels like it is clawing its way out of his stomach.

“Cheer up, Kael,” Aviesha says. Ikael’s smile freezes. “At least _you_ ’ _ve_ eaten most of your food.”

“It’s ‘Ikael,’” Ikael says tightly. He does not respond to the rest of her statement.

Aviesha looks at him, and a slow smile curls up her cheek. “Okay, Kael,” she says.

She knows what she is doing. He is sure of it. He clenches his jaw, not wanting his next words to be harsh ones. She is a child.

“Relax, hm?” Thancred nudges Ikael’s leg with his foot. “I am sure as soon as you get back you can stress-bake and churn out as many perfect recipes as you can.”

“He stress-bakes?” Aviesha asks, sounding delighted. Ikael’s gaze is fixed on where Thancred has prodded him.

“He stress-bakes, and anger-bakes, and sad-bakes,” Thancred replies, shifting towards her. He sounds like he is smiling.

“ _Wow,_ ” Aviesha says. It does not sound like a compliment.

Thancred chuckles. Ikael feels a strange sensation: fear snapping into him like a bowstring, ice-cold and tight. He gets up.

“I’ll get the bedrolls ready,” he says quietly. “Aviesha, you can have mine; I’ll keep first watch.”

He doesn’t look back at them as he walks away. His jealousy is still there, in the pit of his soul, but it has frozen over.

~*~

Ikael’s hands shake as he smoothes down the second bedroll. He touches the soft fabric, closes his eyes as his mother flashes in his head again. _Kael_. He…

He feels nauseous. He needs to get up, take a walk around. He does so.

Thancred and Aviesha are, for once, separated. Ikael feels almost a sparse echo of pettiness in this, but it vanishes. Jealousy is an ugly thing, yes, but it is a sharp, quick feeling, and the lingering insecurity it hollows out of his heart is ten times worse.

He shivers. He is _cold_. He wants his bed. He wants a hug.

He walks over to Thancred. Perhaps…

“What can I do for you?” Thancred enquires, looking up from sharpening his knife. Ikael relaxes a little. Of course. Thancred would never turn him away for someone else’s solidarity.

“I, uh, don’t suppose Aviesha has told you why she hates me so much?” Ikael tries, gentling his words with a small smile. Thancred stops in his movements—and Ikael ignores the plummeting of his stomach. Thancred is not angry, not from simply that, he is not…

Thancred frowns. “Hm,” he says, apparently thinking. “No, she hasn’t said anything to me.” He grins, then, warmly. “But she has told me quite a bit about her family and lifestyle. Do you know why she lived in that little hut we found her in all alone? It’s quite fascinating, really—”

“I’m sure it is,” Ikael interrupts. He cannot bring himself to care much, unfortunately. He can’t help but add, “You two have been talking a lot.”

“Jealous?” Thancred teases.

Ikael snorts. “Of a little girl? Hardly,” he says, and maybe his tone is a bit too sharp, because Thancred looks at him and starts to frown.

“Ikael, she is… just a child,” he says, almost prudently, as if unsure he needs to say it at all.

“I know,” Ikael replies. The words are short.

Thancred frowns. “She has not… done anything. She….” He breaks off, voice going quiet.

Thancred is staring at him so… strangely. Almost warily, even. Ikael feels a sharp spike of fear, tingling from his heart to the flesh of his palms.

He’s done it. He’s crossed the line. He opens his mouth, but he can only suck in air. Thancred is beginning to look worried—but… not for Ikael—he can’t—

No. Thancred is—a good person. He’d understand. He…

_He is going to get tired of reassuring you, one of these days._

The realization hits Ikael so hard he cannot _breathe_ for a moment. Thancred can—will—leave. Ikael needs to… he needs to do better. _Be_ better. He needs to do more to deserve him.

Thancred slowly gets up, still giving Ikael that strange… _look_. He says, in a low voice, “Ikael? Are you… alright?”

Ikael cannot speak. He looks at him, watching him rise and come closer.

Thancred slowly extends an arm, and his fingers make contact with Ikael’s shoulder for a brief moment. Ikael jerks back as if his touch holds fire itself—no, he cannot. Not yet. He cannot keep _taking_.

Thancred stops moving. “… Ikael?” he ventures.

“No,” Ikael says, and why does his voice sound so cold? He tries again to speak, but no sound escapes his throat.

Thancred looks at him, and his face changes. Ikael wants him to smile again—he feels like molten ice.

“… I am sorry,” Thancred says, a bit stiffly, “If I have done anything to offend.”

 _No_. “You didn’t do anything, Thancred,” Ikael says quietly, but he has to look at the ground. Thancred does not say anything, and Ikael glances back up.

Thancred stares for a moment, and then closes his eyes tiredly. “Then please,” he implores, and has he always sounded this exhausted? “I… I have a child to take care of right now, and I… cannot…”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Ikael says softly. He is a crystal, frozen and fragile.

Thancred gives him a nod and a last lingering look that Ikael cannot decipher, and then turns to leave.

Ikael watches his back with a heavy, knowing gaze. He is sorry.

~*~

Ikael cannot look at Thancred anymore. He can barely hold himself together now, as he is. His every breath burns through him, and fear and abandonment pulse into his fingertips in time with his heartbeat. It is his own fault. He should have been better.

He unwraps dried cut fruit for breakfast, and gives Aviesha his whole portion. He needs to… _give_ more, _do_ more, _be_ more. He cannot take.

He is rolling up the bedrolls when he hears Aviesha approach. He turns to her, hands folded, waits for her to say whatever she needs to.

She holds out a piece of dried apricot.

“Take it,” she says. Her hand is small.

Ikael stares at the offered food. “It is your breakfast,” he says.

Aviesha shakes her head. “It was yours first, Ikael,” she replies.

Ikael stretches out a smile for her. “I appreciate the thought,” he says, “But you need to eat it far more than I do. You’re a growing girl, remember?”

He does not take the fruit, and goes back to packing. Aviesha stands there, hand still outstretched. Slowly, her fingers close.

“I… knew a miqo’te, once,” she says.

Ikael has gathered. “Oh?” he inquires anyways.

She shuffles her feet. “She… used to be my friend,” she says. “Then she… she betrayed us. To bandits. My mama was… hurt. In the fight. She… she didn’t…”

“I am sorry,” Ikael says sincerely.

“She… called them her family,” Aviesha continues quietly. “But…” Her voice trembles. “I thought… I thought I was…”

Ikael rises. “You do not need to explain yourself to me,” he says gently. “I am sorry for what happened to your mother. My… my own is still alive, but… I am sorry.”

Aviesha nods. “You can choose your family,” she says. “I… your name is Ikael. I know that now. You are… kind. Not her.”

Ikael wonders how much of him she sees, even now. “I am trying my best,” he says simply.

She nods, looking at his chest, then steps forward to give him a quick hug. He goes still, surprised, but she is already moving away.

“Thank you for the fruit,” she tells him. “I… am sorry if you are hungry.”

She trots off. Ikael watches her hair blow in the wind. He is starving.

~*~

They have reached a stream, and Aviesha is staring at it with obvious hesitation. For good reason: the current is fast and dangerous, and the stepping stones threaten to trick anyone daring to cross into loosing their footing and tumbling off the waterfall breaking a few yalms away.

“It is not usually this high,” Aviesha says. “I’ve never… I’ve never crossed it before like this.”

The weather has been cloudy, and tide is high. Ikael knows that the water will not lower for perhaps weeks. There is no better time than now.

“I shall go first,” Thancred asserts. “Alright? To see if it is safe. Then we will help you cross.”

(He hasn’t said anything to Ikael all morning—his voice sends an icy shock through him. He ignores it.)

Ikael nods, gaze scanning the rocks as he searches for a path. Thancred knows his footwork, and they can both aid Aviesha. They will have to go slowly to walk her across safely.

Thancred eyes the first jut of stone, and then steps back and skips lightly onto it. He pauses, looks, and continues. He is on the other side within moments, and then he turns and beckons to them.

“Slowly!” he calls.

Ikael offers Aviesha his hand, and she immediately latches onto his forearm. He moves forward, nods at her, and takes a small leap, easing her weight into his. They land semi-gracefully—Aviesha clutches at him and darts her gaze around.

“The next one is easier,” Ikael says in a low, reassuring tone. They will have to do this one individually—it is too small, and they will fall if they attempt it together. Thancred, ahead of them, lightly jumps to a closer stone, prepared to steady them if they need it.

“I can do it,” Aviesha says, sounding uncertain, and Ikael nods.

“Yes, you can,” he says firmly.

Aviesha readies herself, and leaps—

 _Twelve_ , she is small—her legs are not as strong as Ikael’s by far, and—

She slips—

Ikael lunges forward, shoving her at Thancred before she can fall, and she screams—he catches her, but Ikael—

Ikael’s tail flails wildly, whipping in the wind that is suddenly, so, so fast, attempts to balance him, but—

The rocks are slippery—water is wet, the sky is grey, Ikael is

_Falling._

“ _IKAEL!”_

It is too late.

~*~

Ikael pulls himself out of the water with a heaving gasp, hungrily gulping in air through his lungs. He clutches at what seems like black stone beneath him, dragging himself forward.

He collapses on the ground of what appears to be a small cave. At its entrance, water cascades with a crushing finality. Ikael chokes at it—he is glad he did not come to his end at its mercy.

He sits, drawing his knees up. His linkpearl has fallen out—it is lost forever to the currents now. He wonders how long it will take for anyone to notice. Will they investigate?

He is soaked, and shivering, and alone.

No one will come for him. They never do. He will have to find his way back, eventually. He knows this.

He shivers violently, ducking his head in his knees. He is freezing, and starving. He will… wait. Perhaps—perhaps sleep. He feels weak; he needs the rest.

He wonders where Thancred and Aviesha are. He hopes she gets to her home safely. He has packed a little extra food into Thancred's bag—just in case he wants snacks. Hopefully, it should suffice for the next day or so.

Ikael’s own bag is gone, and with it all of his provisions. He—he misses… his blankets. The feel of them.

He squeezes water from his tail. He… wants a hug. He wraps it around his ankles.

He misses Thancred's smile. He feels terrible for stealing it from him. He feels terrible for…

No one will come for him. He hopes he hasn’t brought down their mood too much. Well, at least he’s gone now.

No one will come for him. He is not good enough. He feels like a crystal again, but this time its fragility is cracked.

He shatters.

~*~

He is seeing things, now. Abandonment has carved a void into him, and he is a shell. He knew this would happen. He _knew_. They will leave the Warrior of Light to find his own way out.

He is small, and he is crying. His mother is pulling rocks away from him, and she reaches the fissure he has forced himself into. She holds him, comforts him. Later, she gets _furious_ , not at him, and nearly beats them to death with her bare hands. They get kicked out of the clan. His father snorts at him. _Weak_ , he says. His mother challenges him with a steel jaw. He backs away. Kael hugs her close. She loves him. She had come for him.

He is seeing things, now, but not that. He is seeing a figure step into the waterfall, duck its head underneath its arms to shield itself, step inside. Ikael squints at it.

The figure moves closer, then suddenly freezes and rushes forward. Ikael wants to tell it to watch its footing.

“You’re here,” Thancred breathes, reaching out to him. Water is dripping from every ilm of his body—his hair is sticking to his head and neck, a dark, wet grey now. He looks ridiculous.

He might dry, but even so, the temperature in the cave is not ideal. Ikael is so—cold. He shivers, watching Thancred.

Thancred presses his hands into Ikael, feels his arm. He is very warm. “Gods, you’re freezing,” he mutters. “You could get hypothermic—If I had found you any later…” He trails off. His face is twisted.

Ikael does not know what to say. He is sorry that Thancred feels responsible for him. “How did you get here?” he murmurs.

Something like relief passes over Thancred's face. “Oh, good,” he sighs, “Still with me. I searched for you—when you fell I nearly dived in after, but that would have been stupid.” He shakes his head with a small grin. “I found my way to the bottom of the waterfall the slow way. I am sorry it took me this long.”

He looks strangely earnest. Ikael startles, thinking— “Where is Aviesha?” he asks urgently.

“She went on ahead,” Thancred says. “We were nearly there, and we passed the wolves’ hunting ground yesterday. She has made the trek countless times; she is safe.”

Ikael nods. _Good_. He regrets that he hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye—he could have given her a few of Thancred's snacks. The sweeter ones.

Thancred wraps his arms around Ikael, rubbing them up and down vigorously as if to warm him up—then stops. Ikael feels immediately guilty.

“I… am sorry,” Thancred says hesitantly. “Is this… alright with you? I had not thought to ask you—you are cold, and so…”

Thancred had _looked_ for Ikael, no matter the reason. Ikael owes him so much—he feels terribly, terribly selfish. He shakes his head. He cannot keep taking like this.

“O-Oh,” Thancred says, and withdraws. He sits next to Ikael quietly.

Ikael still feels horrible. He says, “I am sorry.” His voice is thick and sticky.

“Hm?” Thancred says. “No; it is fine, Ikael. Whatever your reason, I can respect your need for space. It is unusual, but… I should not take it personally. Whatever you need, yeah?” He shoots Ikael a small smile.

Ikael stares at him. Space? He doesn’t want _space_. What…? “I… don’t want space?” he says questioningly. His voice is still treacle. Stupid thing.

Thancred sort of squints a frown at him. “But… earlier? I thought you…” He pauses.

“I…” Ikael starts,

“You seemed so distressed,” Thancred says at the same time. They both stop.

“No, you first,” Thancred says.

Ikael feels _worse._ “Not me first!” he mumbles nonsensically. “It’s always me first! I don’t _want_ —I want… for _you_ first, not…” His voice is melting, words melding together. “I don’t want… I shouldn’t t-take from you so much—you are so kind, and so amazing, and I don’t d-deserve first, I keep _t-taking_ from you I’m _sorry_ —”

“Whoa, whoa,” Thancred says, pawing at him gently. “What are you blubbering on about, hm? Come—wait. Do you want a hug?”

Ikael shakes his head. “C-can’t,” he stammers into his knees.

“Well _that’s_ not what I asked, is it? Do you want one?”

Ikael starts crying. He feels sad and cold and left alone, and he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Oh, come now,” Thancred says, and wraps his arms around Ikael. “I am sorry if I am in fact wrong and am horrendously offending you somehow by doing this, but I am beginning to doubt that that was ever the case.”

 “I’m _sorry_ ,” Ikael moans, voice muffled.

“Yes, yes.” Thancred says, laying his head on Ikael’s shoulder. “I forgive you. For whatever it is you think you are taking from me.”

Ikael sniffs. He says, “I… I never give you anything, and you are always h-here for me, and I-I’m not _good_ enough—”

“Now you stop that,” Thancred scolds. “You are more than wonderful, Ikael. You are more than enough.”

“’m _not_ ,” Ikael sobs.

Thancred makes a consoling sound, and presses his forehead to Ikael’s temple. He is so close—his eyelashes are white and long, and feel like butterfly wings.

“Whatever you do,” he says into Ikael’s heart, “Whatever acts you perform to deem yourself worthy are _far_ outclassed by simply who you are as a person.”

Ikael keens, cold and hungry and confused, and Thancred murmurs to him, says things that are _so kind_ and…

“Thank you,” Ikael mumbles, somehow into Thancred's neck, “F-for coming to find me.”

“Well, what else was I going to do?” Thancred says. He is stroking Ikael’s hair. It feels nice.

“Leave me,” Ikael whispers. The words scrape out of the bottom of his heart, a fear stolen from the dead of night. “You were going to leave me.”

They are alone. The cave is dark and cold. The water is alive.

Thancred squeezes him. “Never,” he vows.

Ikael closes his eyes. He will do—anything. Anything. For Thancred. For this.

“I owe you so much,” he says softly. “I am sorry I am like this.”

“I would not want you any other way,” Thancred replies.

Ikael fists his hands into Thancred's shirt. The fabric is wet. It feels rough and judgemental.

“Ikael,” Thancred begins. His voice is close.

Ikael nods.

“… You have done much, for me,” Thancred says. He is breathing into Ikael’s soul. “I… am better. Because of you. And a bleeding heart now, apparently. But… I would not change it. So thank you.”

Ikael hiccups.

“Er,” says Thancred.

Ikael starts crying again.

Thancred sighs, and pats him on the back.

~*~

“So,” Thancred asks, when they are still sitting, but closer together, because Ikael is bloody _freezing_ and Thancred is worried, “You kept your clan name?”

Ikael tilts his head back against Thancred's shoulder to look at him.

He smiles a bit. Thancred is glad it is genuine this time. Ikael’s eyes are soft and insecure, but trusting. He says, “You hadn’t figured that out yet, hm? Mister Reconnaissance?”

“ _W-e-ll_ ,” Thancred says, dragging the word out, “I only spy on my friends when they’re naked. And you wear lingerie in the bath.”

Ikael snorts. Then giggles, and then full on laughs, chest heaving and shoulders shaking. Thancred feels a soft smile grow on his own face; he is glad that Ikael is feeling lighter. He needs warmth—and food—Thancred had noticed him giving Aviesha practically all of his servings. Thancred intends to rectify that as soon as they get out; he had found extra baked goods in his pack for some reason and _will_ force-feed them to Ikael.

Ikael’s tail hits him in the stomach. All right—all right. This is dragging on for a strangely long moment. Thancred lays a hand on his shoulder, waits for him to calm down. Squeezes.

Ikael breathes evenly after a minute, and looks up at Thancred with a smile. “By my reasoning,” he says, “The clan did not own me. My name was my own—I could choose what I wanted it to be.” He shrugs.

“And I liked ‘Ikael,’” he finishes, eyes alight.

“I like it too,” Thancred says lightly, then nods. “Thank you for telling me.”

Ikael nudges him with his nose. Thancred says, “May I ask… ‘Jelaar?’”

“My mother’s name is Jela,” Ikael says. He goes a bit quiet at the word ‘mother.’ Thancred decides not to push.

“It suits you,” he says instead. “Although perhaps that is because it is all I have known you as.”

“Kael was a child,” Ikael replies. “A frightened one. I am… no longer him.”

Something occurs to Thancred. He coughs a little, embarrassed. “I, ah,” he says, “I am sorry if, by some miraculous manifestation or other that I cannot think of at the moment—” Alcohol. “—I have called you that in the past. I shall endeavour not to.”

“Oh.” Ikael sounds almost surprised. “Actually, uh… I don’t mind when… you people do it. Just… not strangers. It’s different with friends.”

“Alright,” Thancred says, pleased. He can add one miqo’te name to his list now, for a total of… one. Ah… he needs more friends. “And you may continue to call me whatever nonsense you can come up with,” he says in return. “I am particularly fond of ‘sugar-pie’ and ‘sweet-nuts.’”

Ikael snorts ungracefully at “sweet-nuts,” and Thancred grins.

“I am sure,” Ikael mutters, snickering a little. He smirks.

Thancred relaxes, thinking. They should head out soon—there is no point in attempting to get dry, since the waterfall is their only exit. But as soon as Ikael stops shivering…

Thancred backtracks. Thinks some more.

“Wait,” he says. “Do you actually wear…”

Ikael hums. “Not in the bath,” he replies, amused. “But yes. Sometimes.”

Thancred… considers. “Huh,” he says, voice thoughtful.

Ikael stares, then hits him. “Stop picturing me in lingerie,” he says.

Thancred stops. “I was doing no such thing,” he says. Ikael groans, and hits him again.

“Ow,” says Thancred. Ikael sticks his tongue out at him.

“I am telling Y’shtola,” he states.

“There are beautiful young miqo’te _all_ _around_ me,” Thancred replies with an exaggerated wink. “I am a purveyor of the arts.”

“She’ll _kill_ you if I tell her you said that,” Ikael says, delighted. Thancred grins. She will.

“There,” he declares grandly, “That is your blackmail. Now you may ask me for all the hugs you wish.”

Ikael’s entire face stops, and then—softens.

“Oh, _Thancred,_ ” he breathes, and Thancred smiles into his shoulder as Ikael shuffles around and squeezes half the life out of him.

He will tell Ikael as much as he needs to, he decides. That he would not give up this up, ever. Not for the _world_.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Had a different plan where they fought, but, well. The "misunderstanding for drama" trope is overused. Poor Thancred's just trying to live his life.  
> Also, Ikael was thisclose to hypothermia. If Thancred hadn't shared body heat, he would have definitely started to feel... suspiciously woozy. And he would have stayed in the cave.
> 
> (want to give _Ikael_ a hug this time? [ tumblr ](http://draw-you-coward.tumblr.com/))


End file.
